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Alexander extended his hand. Anthea dropped something small and round into it. It was black and about the size of a pea. He held the small dark sphere to the light, suspecting that he knew what it was. “A seed?”

Anthea laughed. “Not a seed, Alexander,theseed. The seed from the vine of Airdfinnan, from the last time it grew and flowered.”

“That is a fairy tale!” Alexander had heard the fanciful stories about the thorned vine that covered the walls of his castle and home, that it was from a seed brought back from the crusades by a knight, that after its arrival at Airdfinnan it grew only when the laird of Airdfinnan met his bride-to-be. He certainly did not believe that its perfume abetted the laird’s courtship and conquest.

But Anthea clearly did. “It is not! Mama told me that it grew when Papa courted her, and that she had never seen the like of it. She told me that its perfume was like an enchantment. Papa’s mother advised her upon your birth to save the seeds for your courtship.”

“Mama gave me several herself, before she died. They never grew, Anthea, which is proof that the tale is nonsense.”

“It is proof only that you had not met the lady who could claim your heart. Certainly, Miranda Delaney, no matter how fine her lineage and how lovely her countenance, would never have held your affections for long. What a viper!” Anthea’s disdain was clear, though the very mention of Miranda’s name reminded Alexander what a fool he had been. “Her memory should not be of sufficient merit to keep you from happiness. That is why the seed did not grow.”

Alexander tossed the seed into the air and caught it. “And what would you have me do? Plant a seed each time I meet a pretty woman?”

“I would have you seek a suitable woman, one who is honest and true, and pretty enough to tempt you, just as Mama advised.”

“And young.”

“And young,” Anthea agreed. “And if she is amenable to your attentions, I would have you plant the seed, so that the vine might aid your suit.”

Alexander drained his glass and set it aside, rising to his feet with purpose. “I suppose this errand cannot wait?”

Anthea laughed. “I should not delay in your place, Alexander, not if I wished my only sister off the shelf next season.”

“You are relying upon my taking this wager.”

Anthea took a deep breath. “I am seeking inspiration, Alexander. I know I should wed. I know I should leave Airdfinnan.” He watched her pleat her dress with nervous fingers. She swallowed and he ached at the sight of her unhappiness. “I know I should return to London and put all the rumors to rest.” Her gaze met his. “But I am afraid, Alexander.”

He dropped to his knee before her. “You know I would go with you, and defend you...”

She silenced him with a touch. “I know, but it would be so much easier to go with you and your wife, if she is your beloved. Your happiness would give me strength, and she would be able to accompany me where you cannot go.”

She was so lovely in her appeal that Alexander felt her will becoming his own. He had always been damnably susceptible to feminine beauty, and the malady had become more acute while he hunted the thief. The fire caught the red-gold of Anthea’s curls as if to toy with it, and her blue eyes were wide. She looked fragile and vulnerable and he wanted nothing more than to see her hand placed in that of a deserving and honorable man. Even her conviction in the truth of the tale of the vine was compelling to him on this night.

He bent and touched his lips to her fingers. “I will try, Anthea.”

She smiled. “That is all a person of sense can expect, Alexander.”

Alexander had no sooner put the seed into the pocket of his waistcoat than his valet tapped once upon the door, then entered the library.

Rupert Haskell was of an age with Alexander, the youngest son of a baron who had lost his father’s favor. He had chosen to earn his way and Alexander had been glad to give the other man a position. Haskell had a keen affection for travel and a similar loyalty to the crown. He had dark hair and a ready smile, but his wits were quick and his blade was quicker. He was a good man to have at one’s back, particularly in Alexander’s chosen profession. He was completely in Alexander’s confidence and when alone, they spoke as friends, not as master and servant, for they had been such at school.

Haskell spared a quick glance at Anthea, as if surprised to find her there, and color rose on the back of his neck.

“I will leave you to your arrangements, Alexander,” Anthea said, rising to her feet. “Godspeed to you, for I’m certain you’ll be gone before I rise in the morning.” She kissed Alexander’s cheeks then left, barely sparing Rupert a glance.

Rupert looked after her with an unmistakable yearning in his gaze, at least until Alexander cleared his throat. The other man then closed the door. “Where?” he asked, mouthing the word more than saying it aloud.

“Cornwall,” Alexander said, replying in kind.

Rupert crossed the room and noted the letter on Alexander’s desk. He smiled. “Your aunt?”

“Just as planned.”

“The full rig?” Rupert asked, referring to Alexander’s disguise.

Alexander sighed and nodded, then sat at his desk to respond to his aunt.

“Thank goodness those salmon and lemon striped trousers were delivered before we left London,” Rupert said more loudly. “You’ll be quite the sight, Your Grace.”